


My Eyes Are The Only Thing I Don't Wanna Take Off Of You

by jdrush



Series: Doing It To Country Songs [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Humour, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 17:52:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19090093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrush/pseuds/jdrush
Summary: Modern day AU--Joshua Faraday sees Vasquez for the first time at Emma's wedding and is smitten.  That's putting it mildly.





	My Eyes Are The Only Thing I Don't Wanna Take Off Of You

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is my first foray into this fandom--I just love these two idiots and hope I do them justice. I haven't written anything for nearly a year, but recently I was at a formal event where one of the guests looked remarkably like Manuel Garcia-Rulfo, and the next morning, this idea came to me. (I’d like to say I didn't act like Faraday but we all know I did. My bad.)  
> AUTHOR'S NOTES PART DOS: All Spanish came from Google Translate. I hope it worked right.  
> AUTHOR'S NOTES PART TRE: Many thanks once again to my friend, Michele, for her continued support and great advice.

TITLE: My Eyes Are The Only Thing I Don't Wanna Take Off Of You  
AUTHOR: J.D. Rush  
FANDOM: Magnificent Seven (2016)  
PAIRING: Faraday/Vasquez  
RATING: PG-13, for swearing and mild m/m sexual situations  
SUMMARY: Modern day AU--Joshua Faraday sees Vasquez for the first time at Emma's wedding and is smitten. That's putting it mildly.  
DISCLAIMERS: These characters don't belong to me. I made no profit from this story. Title comes from a Blake Shelton song.

 

My Eyes Are The Only Thing I Don't Wanna Take Off Of You  
by J.D. Rush

 

Joshua Faraday was bored.

Bored. Bored. Bored.

And not even the glass of top-shelf whiskey he had managed to charm out of that young cater-waiter was helping.

Same old people. Same old food. Same old innocuous soft instrumental music playing in the background. Same old non-threatening dinner small talk about the flowers, the ceremony, and how beautiful the bride looked. That last one was fairly easy for everyone to agree upon, because Emma Stanton--correction, the newly minted Mrs. Emma Cullen--looked absolutely stunning, a perfectly coiffed red-haired and white-lace vision of joy and innocence.

But Faraday wasn't fooled for one second. He knew if he tried to duck out before the reception ended, she'd kill him slowly and painfully in a very creative way, possibly involving a rusty pair of pliers and his cherished testicles.

And if he did manage to live through that, he'd have his so-called friends to deal with. Sam would most likely just frown and shake his head in disappointment, something Faraday was used to but still made him feel bad for some reason. Jack would give him an encouraging smile and quote some obscure Bible passage about promises or responsibility that Faraday would pretend to ignore but would niggle at him for days. As for Red, Rocks, and Goody--those assholes probably already had a bet going on over what time he'd cut and run, and he'd be good and god-damned if he'd have to listen to their gloating about it for the next three weeks.

Besides, they hadn't gotten around to serving the wedding cake yet, and if you're forced to suffer through a wedding, even one for a close friend, there better be cake at the end of it.

So for the time being, Faraday was stuck between a rock and six hard places. And he was still bored.

Another drink. That's would help. Maybe two. Perhaps three. That would be even better. He had to be careful and not get drunk, though. If he ruined Emma's wedding reception, a rusty pair of pliers would be the least of his problems.

Faraday looked around the room, hoping to catch the eye of the waiter he had conned earlier, but the kid was nowhere to be seen. With a long-suffering sigh, he stood up and made his way over to the bar.

He was waiting his turn, wondering what scam he could use to obtain another glass of the Glenfiddich he knew was not part of the open bar, when his eye--and his breath--was caught by a man standing at the other end of the counter.

He was tall and slim, with dark curly hair, even darker eyes, and just the right amount of one-day old scruff on his tanned, handsome face. He was decked out in a perfectly tailored black suit and bow tie, a burgundy brocade waistcoat adding a pop of colour. He was leaning against the bar, flirting with the obviously receptive bartender. He laughed at something the girl said, his smile big and bright, and Faraday felt his knees buckle.

No. No, no, no. This was all wrong. Faraday liked women. Usually. Okay, there was that guy in college. And the one at that night club back in February. And maybe he had hooked up with a few more in Vegas casinos over the years. Whatever. It's not like he really cared. If someone caught his eye and they responded, he was good to go.

But this. . .this. . .this was completely different than those other times. Firstly, he was sober--something he really had to remedy soon. Secondly, this guy was totally not his type. So swarthy and rugged and manly? Uh-uh. Women were blond and petite with a good rack. The guys, well, he hated the term 'twink' but if the Gucci shoe fits, right? Thirdly, there was absolutely no proof this guy would even be interested, not with the way he was chatting up that girl. Fourthly. . .

That was as far as his brain got, because it was at that moment, with all those messy thoughts and arguments running through his head, the man glanced up and for a split-second, Faraday was on the receiving end of that smile. The stranger cocked his head and regarded Faraday for a few seconds, eyebrow raised in curiosity; it was only then that Faraday realized he had been staring like a slack-jawed idiot for who knows how long.

Feeling his cheeks flush hotly at getting caught, Faraday made a hasty retreat back to his table, his empty glass forgotten on the bar, as he tried to get his hammering heart back under control.

The next hour or so was both wonderful and agony. Faraday sat and watched as Mr. Walking Wet Dream flitted around the room, drink dangling stylishly from his hand, chatting with seemingly everyone, taking turns on the dance floor with women and men alike. A regular social butterfly, graceful and elegant and so far out of Faraday's league they weren't even playing the same sport. That didn't stop Faraday from surreptitiously following the man's movements, envying the people he entertained with both ease and familiarity, and if he snapped a couple of stealth photos with his phone, well, no one had to know about it. He worried that it may have been creepy and borderline stalkerish, but at least he was safe in the knowledge that he was the only one aware of his crazy obsession.

Alcohol. That's what he needed. It was usually the solution to all his troubles. It was also usually the cause of all his troubles, too, but that was a concern for another time.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one planning to indulge in some free drinks, if the crowd around the bar was any indication. It seemed to take forever to finally get a bottle of beer, and once it was in his hand, he discovered to his dismay that he had lost track of his mystery man. Of course he had. Wasn't that always the way?

Not knowing what else to do, Faraday returned to his table, and sat, alone, apparently the lone non-dancer in a chicken dance world. Hell, even old Jack was up and shaking his groove thing, something Faraday desperately wished he could un-see. He knew he could have been out there, too, if he only had the balls to approach Mr. Wonderful and ask, but getting shot down in flames wasn't something he desired, especially not in front of all his friends. A quick look at his watch confirmed it was still too early to leave, and now he didn't even have a pretty distraction to keep him occupied.

_Fuck, I hate my life_ , he thought, miserably.

He was so busy wallowing in his self-pity that he didn't acknowledge the person who sat down at the table beside him. Instead, he tipped his beer bottle for another long swig and pretended to be fascinated with the flower girl twirling her six-year-old self around the dance floor. He ignored the sigh, the throat clearing and the shift that made the hired chair squeak. But he couldn't ignore the large hand that was on his thigh a minute after that, radiating heat through the material of his rental suit.

He turned and almost choked on his beer as he came face to face with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Stupidly Handsome, who was even more stupidly handsome up close. "Ack," or something equally articulate was all his brain could come up with to say, which hardly mattered as Emma took that moment to sashay over.

Hands on her hips, she stated bluntly, "I've gotten some complaints that you've been hassling one of my guests, Faraday."

Brain still not fully functioning, Faraday looked down at the hand on his leg then up at her in alarm and stammered, "I. . .what? No! I. . .swear. . . "

Emma glanced over at the stranger sitting at the table, who was watching the proceedings with a slight smirk on his stupidly handsome face. "This is the guy, right?" she asked, pointing at Faraday.

The hidden hand that still rested on Faraday's thigh patted him once as the man nodded. "Si. He's been following me around, mentally undressing me all night." His voice was deep and smooth, with a slight accent that made Faraday feel funny.

Emma rolled her eyes and muttered, "Why am I not surprised?"

"Emma!" Faraday started, her name squeaked as the hand slid higher up his thigh. "I did nothing of the. . ." but his protest was cut off by an airy wave of Emma's newly gold-ringed hand.

"Of course you did," she declared. "I KNOW you, remember?"

Her comment drew a laugh from Mr. Touchy-Feely. "Perhaps it would be nice to know the identity of my not-so-secret admirer, eh?" he suggested with a wolfish grin, as his finger stroked along the inseam of an increasingly flustered Faraday's pants.

If Emma had any notion of what was happening under the table, she didn't show it; honestly, Faraday only wished his poker face was that good. "I know I'm going to end up regretting this but. . ." With a deep, put-upon sigh, she gestured to Handsy McHandsdale and said, "Josh, this is Rafael Vasquez, a friend from college. He's a nature photographer who enjoys riding horses, playing the guitar, and improving his cooking skills. He's single and far too good for you."

Turning to Rafael, she gestured to Faraday and continued, "Rafe, this is Joshua Faraday, a friend from work. He's a total idiot who drinks too much, gambles too much, and in general is a massive pain in the ass."

"Jesus wept, Emma! I'm sitting right here," Faraday grumbled under his breath, hoping his face wasn't as red as it felt.

"He's easy on the eyes, though," Rafael noted, giving Faraday a very obvious head-to-toe once-over, and his thigh a little squeeze.

"I suppose, if you go for that sort of thing," Emma agreed. "He's also occasionally funny, unexpectedly sweet and he has a good heart under all the bullshit. He's single, too, for reasons too numerous to list here."

Faraday shook his head and groaned. He REALLY needed to get better friends. The best looking guy he'd seen in his entire life was feeling him up and Emma just had to open her big mouth and ruin every. . . wait a second. Faraday quickly ran through the last few minutes--the way Rafael approached him, the way Emma had just magically appeared soon after, the fact that they were old friends, and it started to click that maybe, just maybe Emma was trying to play match-maker, which was a truly bizarre concept but the only one that kind of made sense. And if that was the case, he was going to owe her one.

A really, really big one.

Seemingly as if she could hear his thoughts, Emma gave Faraday a grin and a wink. "I believe my work here is done, and I have to get back to Matthew. Good luck you two." As she turned away, Faraday distinctly heard her add a sing-songed, "You're going to need it."

Rafael watched her go with a fond smile on his face. "Same ol' Emma," he sighed, before returning his attention to Faraday and giving his thigh a playful squeeze. "Now, where were we?"

"What just happened?" Faraday asked, still trying to get his brain back online.

"Exactly what you wanted to happen." At Faraday's puzzled expression, Rafael explained, "You wanted my attention, and now you've got it. I suppose the big question, guero. . ." and here he used his free hand to pluck the forgotten beer bottle from Faraday's grasp and took a deep swallow. Licking away a stray drop, he leaned in close and asked, "What are you going to do with it?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Three drinks, a slice of cake, and two spins around the dance floor later, and they had their answer. Faraday couldn't tell you exactly how he and Rafael ended up making out in a corner closet, but he was hardly surprised, and certainly not complaining. It seemed he was determined to hit every rom-com, chick-flick movie cliche that night:

1) love at first sight--check

2) meet cute--check

3) dance like Cinderella with her prince at the ball--check

4) have hot monkey sex on a bunch of coats at a friend's wedding. Wait, was that a movie cliche? Faraday wasn't sure, but with Rafael shoved against the far wall--a long leg hooked around Faraday's hip, a tongue doing obscene things to his mouth, and a pair of large, skillful hands caressing his ass--it looked like that was where the night was heading.

Which, if Faraday stopped to think about it, probably wasn't such a good idea. Seriously, if leaving the reception early was worth a pair of rusty pliers, what would happen if he got jizz stains on the guests' coats? He really didn't want to find out.

But oh, did it feel good, pressing against the long, lean line of heat and hardness that was Rafael's body. Faraday's hands carded through Rafael's thick curls, holding him in place, as their mouths continued to explore each other. It had been ages since he had been with someone who could kiss like Rafael, mixing hard and soft, brutal and gentle in just the perfect combination, the unfamiliar rough scruff of his beard sending shivers down Faraday's spine.

"You're quite a handful," Rafael joked in between heated kisses.

"I'm quite a mouthful, too," Faraday joked back, before claiming Rafael's lips once more.

"Is that so?" Rafael asked, the next time they came up for air.

"That's what I've been told, anyway."

Clever fingers brushed over the bulge between Faraday's legs. "Hmmmm. . . maybe I should judge for myself, eh?" And with that, Rafael pushed and flipped them around until it was Faraday's back mashed against the wall, and wasn't that an unexpected thrill, to be with someone as big and strong as Faraday was himself. Before he could dwell on it further, Rafael was kissing him again, and thinking became very problematic.

Faraday was blissfully zoning out, losing himself in the moment, when suddenly those magical lips left his, and he'll deny to his dying day that the low whine of disappointment that echoed in the room came from him, followed by an equally startled 'wasn't me!' gasp as Rafael's warm mouth skimmed across his ear, muttering something dark and sexy in Spanish. Faraday had no idea what it meant--could've been a damn market list for all he knew--but he found himself eagerly agreeing, "Yes. Yes!"

The chuckle was low and dirty, and fuck, maybe it had been a market list after all, but Faraday didn't care, not when Rafael purred, "You got it," his hands reaching for Faraday's belt.

Shouldn't have had that last tequila shot. Brain was all foggy. Or maybe that was just Rafael. It was so hard to think with him around. But then again this wasn't a time for thinking anyway. It was a time for actions, and Rafael's actions were quite clear. Deft fingers had already undone his belt and were now working on his zipper and it was everything Faraday should have wanted but it wasn't. It really wasn't. This wasn't how he wanted the night to end. He wanted. . .he wanted. . .

Reluctantly, and with more will-power than he thought he possessed, Faraday reached down and stilled Rafael's hands.

"Problema?" Rafael asked, confused.

"This isn't. . .I mean. . .I don't want this."

Rafael eyebrow quirked, inquisitively. "No? Because you seemed very enthusiastic just now."

"Well, yeah, I was. Am," Faraday barely stammered. "I mean, I really fucking want this."

A sun-bright smile lit up Rafael's stupidly handsome face. "Bueno." And his fingers reached for Faraday's zipper once more.

His will weakening, Faraday steeled himself to tighten his grip on Rafael's hands as he pleaded, "Rafe, please stop."

Rafael huffed an exasperated chuckle, but did as requested. "I'm getting some mixed-signals here, guero."

"I know, I'm sorry. It's just. . ." Oh man, this was so embarrassing. He should have just accepted the blow-job and been happy with it. Now he was going to fuck everything up.

_Story of your life_ , an annoying little voice in his head whispered.

"Yes?" Rafael encouraged, gently. "Just. . .what?"

Faraday took a deep breath and, ignoring the annoying little voice, replied honestly, "I don't want a quick fumble in the coat-room of Emma's wedding."

Nuzzling at Faraday's ear again, Rafael murmured, "My car's parked out back."

Faraday gave a bark of laughter at Rafael's misunderstanding of the situation. "That's actually not much better."

"Then what is it you want, Joshua?"

And oh, the way his name rolled off of Rafael's tongue was enough to make Faraday swoon. He was in so much trouble. What he needed was a minute of peace and quiet, away from Rafael's soft brown eyes and delicious spicy cologne, to try to organize his thoughts and feelings into something remotely coherent. But to his horror, his traitorous mouth decided to blurt out, "More?"

Rafael took a quick glance around the room, then replied, "I don't really think we can get up to more in here. Maybe a hotel. . ."

"No, I don't mean. . .not _'more'_ in the sexual sense, although that sounds amazing. And if that's all you're offering, I'll take it, because you're fucking hot, and I'm not an idiot, despite what Emma told you. But that's not. . ." Faraday paused and sighed deeply, already feeling his face burning in embarrassment. He was ready to just cut his losses and go hide out and become a monk somewhere (because if Red or Rocks ever found out about this, he'd never live it down) but one look at Rafael's concerned face and he decided to go for broke. "I. . .I want to get to know you, too. The real you. I want to see your photographs. I want to hear your music. I want to taste your food. I just want. . . more."

Dammit, did he really just say that? What was wrong with him tonight? He DEFINITELY shouldn't have had that last tequila shot.

But if Rafael was thrown by his confession, he didn't show it. "You want to go on a date with me," he stated simply.

Faraday cringed. It sounded so corny when said aloud, especially since Rafael had been seconds away from sucking his dick. "Yeah, I mean, if you want to. If not, I totally get it. Just forget I said. . ."

A finger pressed against his lips gently cutting him off mid-sentence. "Shush, Joshua. No te preocupes. (don't worry) I'd like that, too."

"Really?"

Another one of those sun-bright smiles. "Really. We can keep it simple--grab a coffee someplace. Or maybe dinner and a movie?" Rafael's hand moved from Faraday's mouth to cup his cheek, fingers ghosting over the sensitive skin below and around his ear. "Or if you're feeling more adventurous, you can come to my place. I'll cook you my famous seafood paella. Show you my portfolio. Play you a song or two on my guitar, then. . .we'll see how the night goes. How does that sound?"

_'Like I died and went to heaven'_ is what Faraday thought. What he managed to babble was an excited, "Yes. That. Let's do that."

"Excelente! Give me your phone." Obeying the command, Faraday reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and handed it over, praying Rafael wouldn't find the photos he had furtively taken earlier that night. The man fiddled with it for a few moments, and the sinful way he licked his lower lip in concentration gave Faraday pause to regret his decision to put on the brakes. For sanity's sake, Faraday looked away from the tempting vision, using the time to re-buckle his belt in an attempt to make himself look presentable again.

Expecting Rafael to just hand him the phone when he was done, Faraday was surprised when he instead leaned in and smoothly slipped it back into the jacket pocket. "It's under 'Rafe'," he said, taking advantage of their closeness to press a quick kiss to Faraday's cheek. "You better call me."

"You better answer when I do," Faraday retorted.

Rafael laughed at that as he straightened Faraday's crooked bow tie. "Don't keep me waiting too long, guero."

"I don't know what that means. Handsome, I hope?"

Rafael's dark eyes twinkled with mischief. "Something like that." Sliding his hands down the lapels of Faraday's jacket, he leaned in for one final kiss, then he was gone.

Faraday stood there for a few minutes, smile on his face, still trying to process the last two hours of his life, before deciding maybe weddings weren't so bad after all.

 

THE END


End file.
